


well i never pray but tonight i'm on my knees

by theviolonist



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theviolonist/pseuds/theviolonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Veronica Mars belongs to Neptune like the sign that says 'Welcome' but doesn't mean it on the road leading towards the police station.</p>
            </blockquote>





	well i never pray but tonight i'm on my knees

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://softly-me.livejournal.com/215559.html?thread=5821703#t5821703) at the [waxing poetic: a multifandom comment ficaton](http://softly-me.livejournal.com/215559.html).

Veronica Mars belongs to Neptune like the sign that says 'Welcome' but doesn't mean it on the road leading towards the police station. She's a staple here, a fixture - something that wasn't supposed to happen but happened anyway, and everyone's grown used to it like you grow used to your windshield getting smashed every Halloween. 

She grew up here, Veronica Mars, and the moss grew around her, rooting her to the ground. She can't change. 

It's probably unfair, that she didn't have any chance to get away before she was frozen in motion, the Neptune bitch in all her short, blond-haired glory. But no one knows better than her than life's a bitch until you die, so she's not surprised. 

(Some say that when criminals come here the only thing they remember is the New Jersey sun and Veronica Mars.)

*

If Neptune were a castle, Veronica would be the dust that never goes away and Logan would be the haughty crystal chandelier. Or maybe it's the other way around. Maybe they're both the rats that forgot this isn't their home a long time ago. 

*

"What the government doesn't tell you about immortality is that it fucking sucks," is the first thing Veronica says to Logan ten years after she pushed him away one last time – or after he broke her heart one last time. It depends on who you ask. 

Logan laughs. "You look sixteen," he says. 

"My point exactly." She points at his watch, silver and useless glitz. "You look like a jackass."

Saying "Some things never change" wouldn't be a good idea, which is why Logan almost says it. In the end, she talks before him. She always used to do that. Never let him talk. It's regrettable for the few times he had something worthwhile to say, but on the whole it's a pretty weak percentage, so it's not that big of a deal. 

"I heard about Keith," he says. "I'm sorry."

That too, they don't tell you – that being young forever means watching the people you love die. As simple as that. She wonders if saying sorry is still as hard for him as it used to be. Probably. She still can't say it at all. 

"What are you doing here, anyway?" she asks, watching him take a drag of his cigarette. An old buzz courses through the veins that outline her fists, an old habit gnawing at her nerves, asking that she take a right hook at his jaw. 

He shrugs, his eyes sharp and unforgiving. Forgiveness – another thing they always struggle with. "I never really left," he says. 

"Yeah, well, I never left at all," she says before she can think better of it. 

*

It's the same routine in the end: they fall into each other's arms, and fight, and she straddles his hips and rocks above him half-clothed. He watches her like the goddess she isn't, tries to keep her close, fucks up. She leaves, he drinks. She catches a criminal or two in the meantime, and then it's back to their old ways of avoiding each other and hurting themselves into oblivion. 

If Mac were still here, she'd call them the Romeo and Juliette of Neptune. They aren't. Neptune doesn't have a Romeo and a Juliette, it has a Logan Echolls and a Veronica Mars, a story that will make Wikipedia one day, next to Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen in the article about fucked-up lovers that ended up coked up and dead in a trashed hotel room, an American love story doused in sun and with dust under its nails.


End file.
